


Like the Baby Moses

by sekritsauce



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sekritsauce/pseuds/sekritsauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blood tinges the water and spreads like an infection from his wounds. He's beautiful, and he's dying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like the Baby Moses

He can hear the sound of them approaching. Whoops and mocking catcalls. With every second that passes, Dean feels their chances for escape slipping away, trickling out of his grasp like water through cupped palms.

Water.

Castiel fails to acknowledge Dean as he is picked up. His head dips forward and rests against Dean's chest, eyes closed but heart beating loudly and resolutely. Dean hopes that isn't about to change.

He lowers Castiel gingerly into the river, and he floats there as Dean draws his arms back. Curls of soft, black hair wave back and forth in the current and surround Cas' face like a halo. Blood tinges the water and spreads like an infection from his wounds. He's beautiful, and he's dying.

But he still has a chance. Dean steps into the river, leans down and presses a kiss to the hair on Cas' forehead. It's untouched by the water, matted by blood.

"I told you I'd get us out of here alive. I'll be damned if I'm not at least half right. You get better, you wake up, and you give 'em hell for me, okay Cas?" Dean smiles, and it's closer to a grimace.

He steps back, grasps Castiel's upper arms and gently pushes.

The current quickly picks him up, tugging and nudging it's passenger along with undelicate fingers. Dean climbs out of the river, wipes water out of his eyes. Just water, he tells himself.

Mouth set in a tense line, he walks briskly in the direction of the cacophony, just as three of their pursuers emerge from the forest. Dean pulls out his hunting knife from his belt, brandishes it and plasters on a cocky grin. He thinks of dry lips and calloused fingers. Honest words and feeling safe.

"You want me? Come and get me, you sons of bitches."

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for Ammie, because she enjoys the painful angsty angst as much as I do. Also I love her. ♡


End file.
